Benefits
by Sheryl Nantus
Summary: Mulder contemplates work and its benefits...


Please Archive... grin... 

All Characters copyright of TenThirteen Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement intended on any part... go ahead, take me to court...I'm using the insanity defence... heh, heh, heh... 

Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@goodmedia.com 

Summary: Mulder contemplates work and its benefits...Spoilers: none really... mild for the movie, but nothing any good Phile shouldn't know...Rating: PG, story, fluff... 

Benefits (1/1)by Sheryl Martin 

Sometimes I hate my job. 

Like tonight. 

Since the closing and during the official reopening of the X Files, Scully and I have become the floaters for the entire State; shuffled from one assignment to another as needed, filling in here and there while paperwork is processed and the right muscles pulled and flexed to get us back to work. 

Take tonight, for example. 

Instead of sitting at home watching some sort of sports event or at least reviewing my movie collection, the two of us are out here in my car on a backup assignment for a twelve hour shift. Three of which have already passed, thank goodness. 

We are the backup to the backup for a surveillance on a possible counterfeiting ring; stuck in the alley between two buildings because the two agents who originally had this awful assignment had to testify in court and the Bureau wanted them to get their beauty sleep. 

Lucky them. 

And that's why I'm staring at a fire escape that's older than I am, wondering why I bother to get up some mornings. 

There is one bonus point here, though. The only benefit of such an assignment. 

Scully is asleep. 

I told her I would wake her at three, which is an hour from now. 

I probably won't. 

Instead I'll sit here and watch her for a little longer; feel her head rest lightly on my shoulder where it's fallen, her hand still wrapped around her chin in an attempt to prop it up. 

Her hair tickles my nose; the clean soapy smell dancing over me. No fruity scent; no perfume. Scully is nothing but professional when she's working. 

But I wonder. 

I wonder what she smells like after one of her bubble baths using one of the many bottles I've seen in her bathroom. If it's a vanilla scent or a thick musky one; if it's slippery bath oil that clings to her skin afterwards or bath beads that take awhile to dissolve and she has to stir them with her toes before getting in the steaming hot water. 

She stirs, burrowing deeper into my shoulder as her hand falls away from her face and down to my leg; landing way too close for comfort. The heat from her palm burns through the fabric and into the skin underneath; branding me for life. 

My heart begins to shudder and I hope I don't wake her with the noise. 

My Scully. 

Although I know that if she ever heard me refer to her in such a sexist way I'd be under her autopsy knife in record time, I can't help but think of her in that way. 

Call it macho pride or partner bonding or whatever phrase you care to - I think of her belonging to me as much as I think of me belonging to her. 

She moves restlessly for a second, burying her face in my coat with a troubled mumble before going silent and limp again. And not for the first time I let my mind wander down forbidden paths, of what we could be doing sitting like this instead of watching a fire escape. 

Curled up in front of a small fire, a blanket wrapped around us as we nap and talk in low whispers to each other even though we don't have to; talk about our dreams and aspirations and what we miss and want and should have and will chase and capture and make ours. Maybe she would laugh and give me one of those smiles, the ones I value like gold because I see them so rarely and usually when I'm lying in a hospital bed. 

Then she might doze off, her head lying on my shoulder as it is now; her hand on my thigh making promises of the rest of the night. 

Or already in bed, sleepy and sated with cool air racing over bare skin and more than just a little sore from the evening's fun; her red hair sprawled out over my shoulder as she tries to catch her breath and fails, choosing instead to catch a short nap before round two commences. 

Her fingers tremble for a second on my thigh, making me catch my breath while considering my options. 

First to remove her hand, her touch; to banish it back into the darkness. 

Second to grab it; to press my lips to the top of her head and smother her in delicate little kisses until she awakes and we wait impatiently for the end of the shift before racing back to her apartment. 

I do neither. 

Instead I close my eyes as well, knowing that I cannot fall asleep; will not fall asleep for the fear of losing this moment and this memory and the choice I will not make. Not this time. 

I can wait a little longer. After all, anything good is worth waiting for. 

Sometimes I don't mind this job. 

Like tonight. 

*************** 

.... fluff, the magic dragon... 


End file.
